Washing the Dishes
by effulgentgirl
Summary: Buffy and Spike discover some truths while washing the dishes. Takes place after Potential in Season 7.


**Washing the Dishes**

by **effulgentgirl**

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and a whole lotta other people who aren't me own Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. I just like to play with them, cause Joss said we could.

Distribution: Yes please. But give me a shout first.

Feedback: If you like what you see, please tell me. Otherwise, I don't know whether to write more or not.

Thanks: To Joss, for creating such wonderful characters, and to Sarah and James, for bringing them to life. And to **Tasha**, my first beta, who made some lovely suggestions to make my story a whole lot better.

Description: Buffy and Spike discover some truths while washing the dishes. Takes place after 'Potential' in S7.

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Buffy knew it was Spike as soon as he stepped in the room, but she didn't pause from her task of washing up the alarmingly large pile of dirty dishes. She continued to hum the love theme from Titanic under her breath. It had been stuck in her head for the past couple of days and was getting annoying. She heard him move to the fridge and take out a beer; popping the top off and flicking it into the trash. When he sidled over to the sink and leaned backward against the counter, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"You'd think the least these girls could do is wash up their own dishes," she said, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain. "It's like they think I'm Buffy the Dish Washer or something."

He smirked. "Yeah, ever since they dusted that vamp the other day, they've been walkin' round like a bunch of bitty Buffys."

She glared at him. "Well then, you better watch out Spike. They might just try to stake you," she replied, punctuating the 'you' by poking him in the chest with the soapy sponge.

"Hey now! You're getting me all wet!" He quickly dipped his fingers in the water and flicked them, sending a small stream of water in Buffy's direction. She let out a squeal of protest and hit him on the head with the sponge, leaving a fluff of soap perched atop his platinum blonde curls. Spike proceeded to scoop up a handful of water this time and throw it in her direction but it only managed to soak the back of her shirt as she turned away. Buffy squealed again and tried to poke the sponge into Spike's face but he sidestepped and grabbed the sink sprayer. He held it out before him, finger resting on the trigger, as Buffy froze in her spot on the other side of the island.

"You wouldn't!"

Spike tilted his head to the side. "I wouldn't? You so sure about that Slayer?"

He was using his dangerous, sexy voice. Damn him! She put up her hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, I put down my weapon, you put down yours." She lowered the sponge towards the counter but didn't put it down. "Deal?"

Spike contemplated this for a second, his scarred eyebrow quirking up. "No."

He pressed down on the handle but before the water streamed out, Buffy chucked her sponge, hitting him right in the nose and giving her the time she needed to duck behind the island. The water streamed over her head and splattered on the floor behind her. She didn't know where to go next to avoid Spike so she scooted to the right and attempted to get behind him. However, he anticipated her move and finally managed to hit her full on with the sprayer.

Buffy sputtered and threw her herself at Spike's legs, trying to knock him over. She would have succeeded if she hadn't slipped in the water on the floor and fell on her side. Spike backed up a step and stopped spraying.

"You surrender?"

Buffy glared up at him through her drenched hair that was hanging limply in her face. She was soaked through and he barely had a drop on him. Besides that fact, there was no way Buffy was gonna surrender anything to the annoying bleached vampire. But she smiled sweetly and said, "OK."

Spike narrowed his eyes and then opened them wide with realization at what Buffy was doing. She had already managed to scoot just close enough to sweep his feet out from under him, causing Spike to fall heavily to the kitchen floor.

Buffy jumped on top of him, straddled his stomach, and grabbed the sprayer where it had fallen beside him. Spike looked up just in time to see the sprayer right in his face and Buffy with a gleeful look on her face. He shut his eyes, expecting to be hit with a blast of water, but he only felt a small trickle on his face. He cracked one eye open. What he saw caused him to grin in triumph. Buffy was holding the sprayer head in one hand and the end of the tube in the other where it had ripped from the sink when he had fallen.

"You broke it!" she pouted at him.

"It wouldn't have broken if you hadn't kicked me down here luv," Spike pointed out, staring intently at her pouting bottom lip. He winced when Buffy shifted on him, putting her weight again on his still injured chest. She pulled back abruptly.

"I'm sorry. Is it still hurting?" She asked, concern in her eyes as she gently laid her hand on his chest.

"It's almost healed up. Prob'ly aggravated it a little when I fell." He looked up at her. "It's okay," he added, when he saw her look of guilt. She still had her hand on his chest but had started moving it in slow little circles.

"I'm sorry. I should have done something. Got to you sooner or..."

"Buffy, it's not your fault," he interrupted. "You did everything you could. More than I deserve."

"Spike, nobody deserves to be tortured like that. Well, on second thought...maybe you do," she teased. She looked down into his eyes. "But you're a good man now," she whispered quietly.

Spike looked back at her face and saw her looking right at him. She smiled.

"So stop with all the 'I don't deserve this' crap and being Mr. Broody Man."

"I don't brood," he vehemently protested. "That's the Great Poof's description."

"Uh huh," Buffy teased back.

"I don't brood," he repeated. "It's more of a...quiet reflection."

Buffy giggled. "You're not gonna start composing poetry now, are you?"

Spike ducked his head down and Buffy was sure he would have blushed if he could.

"No," he blurted out. Buffy smiled back down at him.

"Well, it wouldn't be the end of the world or anything if you did." She paused a moment in thought. "Have you ever written anything about me?"

Spike looked back up at her now serious face.

"Why?" he whispered, feeling the need to lower his voice.

She shrugged her shoulders in reply.

"I dunno. It's just...I saw your poems about Drusilla and some girl named Cecily and I wondered if you had written any about me."

Spike's eyes widened. "Where the bloody hell did you see those?" he said, his voice rising again. Buffy glanced off to the side.

"When you were gone, over the summer, I went down to the lower level in your crypt to see if I could find anything that might tell me where you went," she answered softly. "That's when I found them. I only read a little. Just enough to know who they were about and that you wrote them. I put them back, though. You don't have to worry about Xander finding them and lording them over you or anything." She finally looked back at him. "They were nice. I mean, I'm not a good judge or anything, but I liked them."

She gave him a little grin and Spike favored her with one of those real smiles of his, the kind that were so rare but that she was seeing more and more of each day. She realized that other than Dawn, she was the only one that Spike let his guard down around; the only one who he let see the real him, a kind and loving man who would do anything for the ones he loved. Who _had_ done everything he could to be the man he was today.

He had protected Dawn with his life and taken care of her when Buffy had died because he promised her he would. When she came back, he had been her friend and confidant; the only one she let know the truth, before things got so messed up between them. Then he got a soul, for her, for him, so he wouldn't let the demon control him again. Recently he had to overcome the fact that he had been killing again, under control of The First. Then he had been tortured. Horribly. Brutally. He still had the physical wounds to prove it. She wasn't sure when the mental ones would heal.

The First had really been putting him through the ringer for months; torturing him in the school basement with visions and lies. He hadn't even known he was under its control; killing and siring all those people. She suddenly had the urge to comfort him; to give what reassurances she could that he was a good man. She needed him to know that it wasn't his fault and that he, no they, could beat whatever came at him. And that she cared for him more than she ever realized.

"Thanks, luv," he replied to her praises about his poetry. She smiled again.

Spike couldn't figure out the look on her face. He wasn't exactly sure what to make of it, which bothered him more than he cared to admit. He thought he knew every look on Buffy's face. There was hate, anger, the 'brassed-off at Spike' look, happy, sad, broken and every other emotion he had seen in the six years he had known her. This one was different from all the rest, but then he realized he had seen it before. Not much, mind you, but at least he had seen it. When she kissed him, for the first real time, after Glory had tortured him. Again he saw it that last night on the stairs, when he had said that she treated him like a man.

The look changed after she came back. It was more desperate and needy, but it was the same look. When they had just been friends, or as close as they could get, she would look at him and he'd see it. Everything changed after that night in the house. He didn't see the look anymore, 'cept for just moments when she would forget the past, and just live, in the here and now. It had been on her face at the whelp's wedding. She had smiled, and he remembered feeling the pain that came along with it; that he hadn't seen her smile like that in such a long time and that it didn't happen until after she had broken up with him.

After everything that had happened after that, he knew he wouldn't see that look on her face again. Yet, she had proven him wrong, not for the first time in his unlife. He had seen that look this year more than he ever had before. The school basement, the church, her basement, when she saved him from The First and when they had been training the girls and she had accidentally hurt him. Oh and right damn now. He didn't know what the look meant, but it was on her face now as she straddled his legs, sopping wet, in the middle of the kitchen floor.

"You haven't answered my question," Buffy said, brushing an errant curl from his forehead.

He tried to remember what they had been talking about. Poetry, right.

"I thought about it. Writing 'em out. But I figured if you found 'em you'd just kick me in the head and say they were rot or somethin."

"Yeah, I probably woulda," she replied. He smirked.

She looked down and realized she had been tracing little shapes on his chest the whole time. Now, she took both her hands and placed one on either side of his head and leaned down toward him, her face inches from his. She closed her eyes and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. She leaned back a little and opened her eyes. Spike was staring back at her with wide eyes and his mouth was hanging open a little.

"But I wouldn't now," she whispered. He closed his mouth but continued to stare up at her with open eyes.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked.

He nodded his head, causing their noses to brush a little. She smiled.

"I think...I think I love you."

She didn't think his eyes could have gotten any bigger but they did, and his mouth dropped open again. She sat there looking at him for the longest time, waiting for him to say or do anything. He wasn't even blinking. She was just about to open her mouth to tell him to move or something when he stopped her.

"You...think you love me?" he said, his voice rough and thick with emotion. "What does that mean?"

She ran her hand down the side of his face.

"It means...I'm not sure if what I'm feeling is love or something else. But that, if things keep going the way they have been lately, with you and me, then I'll know. It's love."

She leaned down and claimed his lips with her own, letting him know that even though she didn't know the truth, her body did. He kissed her back fervently, pouring all his love and feelings into the woman who said she could love him. His mind couldn't form a single coherent thought as he felt those same feelings coming from Buffy. It was definitely more than a crumb.

Buffy tangled her hands in his hair and pressed her body closer to his. Her body was tingling from the feel of the man beneath her, and she couldn't get enough of him. She had missed him so much. They fit together so perfectly. She didn't know how she could ever let go. He shuddered underneath her touch, and she realized she needed air. She broke off with a breathy gasp and gazed down into his stormy eyes.

He was panting just as much as her and running his hands up and down her arms as he lovingly gazed back at her. She broke out into a sly grin.

"I'm getting you all wet," she said, punctuating her sentence by wriggling on top of him. He grinned back at her.

"I don't mind luv," he replied. "I kinda deserved it."

"Kinda?" she teased him, glancing down at her still soaked body.

He brushed a lock of damp hair out of her eyes. She was wearing that look still, and now he realized what it was...love. Those times in the past, when she had looked at him like that. In those moments, she had loved him. He took her head in his hands and ravaged her mouth, leaving her gasping for air once again. He just grinned at her.

"You know," she said, once she had caught her breath, "I really don't mind washing the dishes if this is how it's always gonna end."

He laughed, and she leaned down for another soul-searing, passion-filled, _loving_ kiss; wrapped in the arms of the man who loved her and she loved back. So that's how Amanda found them when she came down to wash her dishes that she had left by the sink.

The End


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